Letters From War
by NSSP.SaruWatari
Summary: Alfred goes to war and is writing letters back home to his "mother"  Arthur  about his life in war. What will happen to poor Al? AU NOT YAOI inspired by the song "Letters From War" by Mark Shultz  T in case of violence or something in the future...
1. Chapter 1

Arthur set his book and tea down when he heard the mail arrive. He pulled on his shoes, taking the time to lace them properly and walked outside, just like everyday. He picked up the newspaper first then picked up the stack of mail, carrying them inside and dropping them on the counter. Pouring another glass of tea he ran his fingers through his messy blonde hair before picking it up and sipping it. While sipping Arthur sat in a chair at the table with the mail, crossing his legs looking very British as he sat there sipping tea and sorting mail in his dorky sweater-vest that didn't look at all bad on him. Junk, bills, letter… Arthur barely glanced at it and almost dismissed it until he realized the familiar sloppy handwriting and dropped the bill currently in his hand, all other mail forgotten. His hands began to shake and he took a gulp of breath.

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**A/N: heres my new story. SO SORRY I HAVENT UPDATED IN A WHILE! School started and i kept writing but I havent been typing so... I'LL TRY! plz tell me i still have veiwers...**


	2. approxamately118 days into the war

_Dear Artie, _

_Hi. It's me~ This was my first chance to write since boot-camp/training. The weather is hot here! All the equipment and clothes we have to wear don't help either. I cut my hair a bit…(the cowlick stayed though) But I've made a lot of new friends here! I've met Ivan who is kinda sadistic, and his friend Toris , I met Antonio, Francis who is a bit of a coward, and Gilbert, there's also his adopted brother Ludwig, Feliciano, Yao, Kiku, and there's __one __girl Elizabeta. She's a sweet girl but you wouldn't know it if you saw her on the battle-field. Vash, who is the weapons specialist and head of the company that supplies our guns, has a hot temper and not many people really like him. There's a few chicks as nurses but not many. But my best friend is Matthew. We look so much alike that it's creepy. Some people say that we could be long lost brothers. He's a lot quieter than me but we just clicked for some reason from the first day of training. I've been thinking about dad and the life that he gave us. That's why I'm here today. You are what I'm fighting for, I love you. _

_Love,_

_Alfred_


	3. 118 days into the war: part 2

_Dear Alfred, _

_You are good, and you're brave. What a father that you'll be someday. Make it home safe. I love you; you know that you're my blessing. These friends sound…promising. …Would Francis by any chance happen to be French? If so, that's why he's a coward. It's good to have friends out there; helps make the pain more tolerable. Your father would be so proud of you. Stay as safe as you can and know you mean the world to me. I wish you hadn't had to cut your hair, but your cowlick is part of your personality. You're a bloody idiot for assuming I knew who you were by the way. The weather here is neutral like it can't decide if it is going to rain. I'm following the war on the news, and I visited your father's grave yesterday. I told him about how you were doing and how you were following in his footsteps. That's how we met is when we were both in the war. He got hurt so often, I always thought he had died, but he was a fighter. Just like you. I love you so much. _

_Love,_

_Arthur_

_P.S. Call me Artie again and I'll hurt you __**myself.**_


	4. 120 days

Arthur waited anxiously for two days, checking the mail often. Two days later, a letter arrived, Arthur's name printed in the same sloppy script. Arthur remained civilized until he got inside when he ripped open the awaited envelope.


	5. 120 days: part 2

_Dear Mom, _

_Still hot! I hate this weather! Last night we all had a little celebration of surviving four months here. We have one on the first of every month. We joke and laugh, the nurses and doctors come too. A few have drinks but a lot of us like to stay sober just in case. We're all paranoid about surprise attacks. So far so good, I've only gotten hurt once and that was a cut on a rock. You can see the suspicion in everyone's eyes. In the way they jump with small noises or all carry guns on their hips and wherever else. We all expect a bomb or a sniper to shoot someone from an unknown location. It's awful, this kind of paranoia. But I still feel like this is where I'm supposed to be._

_Love,_

_Alfred. _

_P.S. sorryeeeee!_


End file.
